Whitetalon, annoyed with Amberkit being in his way, hissed and scolded the young kit rather harshly, getting a few concerned glances from his clan-mates. Sugardawn, intolerant of his treatment of her kit, gave him a few wounds to think about.
The scarred white tom sat unassumingly at the entrance of the den, slowly flicking his tail. If Webstar wouldn’t have known better, he would have thought him completely harmless.
“Snowsoul.” Webstar returned, with a curt nod.
“Snowstar, mind you.” He corrected, his tone icy. After a pause, he narrowed his eyes, crouching low to the ground. “Let’s get to business, shall we?”
And with that he barreled the Tideclan leader over, claws ripping into his fur.
By the time Webstar could think clearly again, Snowstar had been dead for several minutes.
Webstar blinked, wincing. His whole body burned like it never had before, and he struggled to stand, every muscle under his pelt throbbing in pain. He blinked again, raising a paw to rub at his eyes, but nothing would come into focus -- all he could sense was blurry, bewildering, darkness.
Dawnclaw, Leafrush, and Meadowstalker had beaten back the trespassing clan cats with nary a scratch or bite on them.
Topazpaw had not been so lucky, however. Once Marshpaw had gotten her claws in her pelt, she was almost impossible to get back off. The bloodied red and white queen crouched behind the other three Tideclan mollies, as they stood in a protective line between their kits and the Infernoclan cats.
Dawnclaw’s usually neat fur stood on end, and she growled ferociously. “Leave my grand-kits alone, you Infernoclan fiends!”
Leafrush’s feathery tail rustled the grass underneath her as she lashed her tail angrily, and she dug her claws into the soil. “Get out, before we make you.”
As the rival clan cats hesitated, Meadowstalker stepped forward, growling. Convinced, the three strangers backed away slowly, then disappeared through the brush as quickly as they had originally appeared.
Two groups of cats faced each other in the Tideclan Warriors den, neither moving a muscle.
Larch stood at the front of the group of Infernoclan cats, though his posture was awry, and his tail slumped against the ground. Blood trickled from a deep wound on the right side of his neck. “We ... can keep fighting all day ... if we have to.” He growled lowly.
“Relax, Larch.” The oddly pale tom -- Archie -- spoke up, his voice smooth. “Don’t push yourself any harder, you’re about ready to keel over as is.”
Larch turned his head in the white tom’s direction and hissed in annoyance, though he backed away, sitting heavily on his haunches.
“You made a grave mistake, trying to corner us ... you’ll see what a true Tideclan warrior’s claws feel like!” Riverblaze spat, advancing forward with his pelt and tail spiked, making the grey tom appear twice his size. Pitchpaw -- a siamese tom -- and Larch scrambled backwards toward the entrance of the den as he approached, glancing fearfully at their other two clanmates. Larkshine leapt forward, landing directly in front of Pitchpaw and letting out a furious hiss. The brown tom startled and fell backwards, then shot through the bush, Larch hot on his tail as they fled.
Archie and Autumnpaw -- a red and white tabby mollie -- glanced at each other with uncertainty. More of the Tideclan cats closed in around them, but before they could be cornered, the two turned tail and ran for the camp exit.
Falconblaze coughed, sitting down stiffly. The older tom’s wounds were deep. “Foxhearts, attacking us in our own camp while we sleep. Who do they think they are ...?” He coughed again, and settled down on the ground with all four paws underneath himself.
“We need to find Flowerscar and Barkbriar. No doubt there’s going to be a lot of wounds to treat.” Wrencharm sighed, shaking his head in irritation and sending droplets of blood across the ground.
late one night, Flowerscar is sorting herbs, when she hears a strange sound ...
And that sound is none other than invading Infernoclan cats.
Relief flashes through her as she recalls her efforts to gather as many healing herbs as possible in the past few days, but quickly vanishes as a white tom hurls himself through the brush and directly at the distracted medicine cat. With quick reflexes, she scrambled out of the way, struggling to keep her footing.
“Opalstone!” She gasped, tail lashing despite her surprised tone. “What do you think you’re doing, attacking a medicine cat?” She hissed.
Barkbriar, sleeping nearby, awoke immediately -- his nest rustling as he shot out of it. He was at his mentor’s side in moments, fur bristling as he confronted the former Tideclan warrior.
“We’re here on Snowstar’s orders, nothing more.” Opalstone growled with a flick of his long, thick tail. A second cat stepped from the undergrowth, a stocky, thick-furred, mostly white and grey tabby tom, with small ears and dark hazel eyes. “Dieselpaw, take care of that one, will you?” The white tom motioned with his ears toward Barkbriar, then launched himself at Flowerscar again with a screech.
When the fighting in the Medicine Cat’s den ceased, all of them were exhausted. Barkbriar huddled next to the herb store, blood caked in his fur, while he actively hissed and spit at the two Infernoclan cats threateningly. Dieselpaw eyed the apprentice, but stay put in his place on the ground, breathing heavily. Flowerscar and Opalstone stood in the middle of the den, glaring at each other as blood dripped from their wounds and onto the grassy floor.
“Didn’t think we would be much of a fight, did you?” The medicine cat scoffed.